


Path of the Right (But I'm Wrong)

by Mytay



Series: Trouble's Making Everything All Right [8]
Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: And Those Gun Holsters, Angst, Canon Divergence, Established Relationship, Fluff, Implied Sexual Content, M/M, Nudity, Rocking Those Leather Pants, Space Cowboys - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-23
Updated: 2017-11-23
Packaged: 2019-02-05 14:41:41
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 18,487
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12796632
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Mytay/pseuds/Mytay
Summary: Keith picked up the gem bag and stared blankly at his hand — the little satchel was heavy.“How much did you make tonight?” he asked incredulously.“Um, probably the same as you?”“I made five gems, Lance, it was just a two-hour guard job — this feels like twenty-five? Thirty?”Lance shrugged, not meeting Keith’s gaze as he put his clothes away a little too carefully. He muttered a number, apparently hoping Keith had suddenly developed hearing loss but no, he heard it loud and clear.“You made forty gems in one night?!”Over seven months as mercenaries, and money is getting tight again for Lance and Keith. They’re picking up a few odd jobs to stay afloat, but Lance is pulling in way more money than Keith … And Keith is worrying over exactlyhowhe’s doing it.Or, as Lance likes to sum it up:That Time My Fiancé Thought I Was Stripping For Cash.





	Path of the Right (But I'm Wrong)

**Author's Note:**

> Title taken from the song [_Through the Valley_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AtHubsyGD8w) by Shawn James. 
> 
> I started writing this tale way back around the second or third story mark of this series. Because as soon as I had this idea, I said to myself, out loud, “Oh hell yes.” I may have a problem.
> 
> Shout-out to **Skyroy14** for being the first to comment about Lance’s work at Denna’s — thank you! A whole bunch of you have been asking about it since, and y’all made me feel like it was okay to add this to the series, so many thanks to all of you as well :D
> 
>  **Art! There was art before I even posted.** Holy crap, **morgensternmary** , you are incredible — [click here](http://morgensternmary.tumblr.com/post/167716478000/thisgirlhastales-posted-a-sneak-peak-of-the-new) to see the amazingness. Also, **powerhh** posted some freaking gorgeous [artwork here](http://powerhh.tumblr.com/post/167747034203/ive-been-slightly-obsessed-with-the-series). And overall, please check out the [series description](http://archiveofourown.org/series/640874), where there are links to the many beautiful pieces people have been kind enough to create and share!

 

******

 

Keith stood outside of _Denna’s Pleasure Lair._ About an hour ago, he’d watched from a dark alley as Lance had strolled up to the guards in front of Denna's, cracking jokes with them as if they were old friends. He’d disappeared inside not long after.

 

But Keith hadn’t been ready to follow him in. Maybe he _still_ wasn’t ready to see what Lance had been doing to earn the _forty gems_ a night he was bringing in. He hadn’t thought Lance would ever go back to this, would ever reconsider … Yet here Keith was, standing outside the brothel Lance had been working in for the past week. They’d already fought about this, and after that fight, Lance had made it very clear that there was no cause for concern — and Keith did trust him, even if his overly protective instincts wouldn’t let him rest.

 

Now, though, _now_ there was a _bet_ on the line. One Keith was _very interested_ in winning. Lance promised a worthy prize, and if Keith had the right answer, he would get that prize _tonight_. All he had to do was confirm his suspicions by heading in there.

 

He just had to muster up the strength to walk inside …

 

******

_One Week Earlier_

******

 

“So, what you’re saying is that Keegin Dras has screwed us out of work?”

 

Lance was perched on a rickety wooden fence, his head cocked to one side. The sun beat down mercilessly, but his beloved cowboy hat protected his face. He had a candy stick poking out from the corner of his mouth — he rolled the sugared rod between his lips, switching sides after speaking.

 

“Yeah,” Keith replied, scowling. He paced back and forth across the dirt road, kicking at stones as he went, twirling one of his knives in his left hand. “According to Gunthra, Dras has put the word out that anybody who deals with us becomes her enemy. That’s why only Jorlack and Wesdru have been hiring. Everybody else is too scared to stand against Keegin Dras.”

 

He threw the knife at a nearby cactus, his anger sinking the blade in all the way to the hilt.

 

Lance sighed, kicking lightly at the fence with his heels. “Okay. We have enough saved up for a ship, maybe, and if we can escape to Jacomir —”

 

“Except we need _passports_ and _ship documentation,_ ” Keith interrupted, his voice rising. “None of the nearby planets, _especially_ Jacomir, accept unidentified travellers because they don’t want anybody from this _trash heap_ sneaking in — they’ll blast us to pieces before we get within a thousand kilometres!”

 

“Yeah, _cariño,_ I know this,” Lance said patiently. “But we’re pretty badass at sneaking around, right? Dude, we could totally smuggle ourselves in —”

 

“I’m sorry, did you become a world-class hacker in the last few months? We need to fool scanners and the transport registry — this is why Gunthra makes so much damn money selling those IDs! Damn it …” He trailed off, forcing the frustration down as he stared at his dusty boots.

 

After a moment, he sucked in a deep breath and walked towards the cactus, pulling out his knife with some effort. Once the blade was back in its sheath, he looked at Lance. Those blue eyes rolled the moment their gazes locked.

 

“Right. Let’s go back to Yathir’s and have a cold drink or ten.” Lance hopped off the fence, tucked his candy stick into a pocket, and started walking, pointedly giving Keith a wide berth.

 

Keith stood there for a minute, feeling guilty for lashing out, and then ran to catch up, bumping shoulders with Lance once he did.

 

“Sorry for being an ass.”

 

“Hey, you needed to vent, so no worries.” Lance smiled sweetly at him — then his expression turned teasing. “Plus, I’m used to your random outbursts of emo-ness.” He sighed long-sufferingly.

 

Keith snorted, shoving him jokingly as they made their way back to the inn.

 

Lance shot him a sly grin. “You know, you could make it up to me …” His voice was coy, instantly setting Keith on edge — and not in a bad way.

 

“Yeah? How?”

 

Lance slid in front of Keith, wrapping his arms around his waist to pull him in close. With Keith’s heeled boots, they were of equal height (not that _three centimetres_ were as big a deal as Lance liked to make them out to be). Lance didn’t have to bend at all to press his mouth to Keith’s ear and say, “By doing … the laundry for a week. Again.”

 

Keith groaned. “I hate you.”

 

“Also, I will take sexual favours, but only after our clothes are clean,” Lance finished primly. “Thanks, and bye!”

 

He took off, running like a gazelle with those absurdly long legs of his. Keith instantly sprinted after him — they both bounded into Yathir’s inn, sweaty, out of breath, and arguing over what constituted a win.

 

“Door!” Lance wheezed. “First one to touch the door!”

 

“First one inside!” Keith retorted, gasping for air. “So, me!”

 

“Good morning, boys,” Yathir said dryly. “I see calisthenics were the first order of the day. Care for a drink?”

 

“Bless you!” Lance walked over to the bar, his arms extended as if to give a huge embrace. “Yathir, you are a god amongst aliens!”

 

“For pouring two waters? The standards on your home planet must be so very low.” Yathir chuckled when Keith elbowed Lance out of the way to get to the drinks. “You have some messages waiting.”

 

Keith tried not to appear too earnest while he stuck his hand out. “Great, thanks. We’ll be getting some better paying jobs soon, Yathir.”

 

Lance gave a thumbs-up as he chugged his glass of water.

 

Yathir handed Keith a couple of memory sticks. “There’s no hurry, boys. Mollin wanted me to tell you that Wesdru can only scrounge up a few grunt jobs — she’s got all her major contracts covered by her crew for the month.”

 

Keith frowned, pulling his personal computer out and shoving the memory sticks in, skimming the details of the contracts. “Okay, these are one-person gigs. Lance, did you want to take turns or —”

 

“Actually, I have one here specifically for Lance,” Yathir cut in, his eyes crinkling up as he smiled. “Interesting person who delivered it, too …”

 

“Oh, yes, thank you!” Lance rushed to say, slamming his empty glass down and all but leaping over the bar to grab the stick out of Yathir’s hand. “Um, yeah. So … this is probably a contract that I’ve been … It’s gonna be about a week’s worth of nightly work, so you can handle Wesdru’s stuff, right?”

 

Sometimes Keith marvelled at how Lance could be so cool under pressure when they were toe-to-toe with vicious murderers, or when they were cheating at gaming tables with criminals who could stab them in the face, but then lose all that chill when he was trying to hide something from Keith.

 

“Uh huh,” Keith said slowly. “And what will you be up to?”

 

“Nothing dangerous!” Lance said immediately, which did not reassure Keith, even though he knew that Lance wouldn’t blatantly lie to him. “Just … look, it’s a little embarrassing, okay? I promise to tell you when it’s over.”

 

Keith frowned at that, but he let it go. He trusted Lance to tell him if anything was seriously wrong.

 

Lance smiled brightly, leaning over to press a bruising kiss to Keith’s mouth. “Gonna take a shower now! Catch me later!” He ran up the stairs before Keith could say anything else.

 

Yathir started laughing, and Keith turned to him, pointing at where Lance had disappeared. “Do you know what’s going on?”

 

“No, but I have my suspicions,” Yathir said with a grin. “Now, it seems odd that you’re having such a long dry spell between major contracts.”

 

“That’s because it’s not a dry spell anymore. It started out that way …” Keith picked up his own glass of water and sipped a little. “But since we turned down working for Keegin Dras, she’s made it her personal mission to screw us out of paying jobs. I can’t tell if this is a way to force us to come groveling to her, or just petty revenge.”

 

“You know that you don’t have to pay me for the food on a set schedule,” Yathir reminded him (for the millionth time, Keith noted ruefully). “And I still owe you for those days you covered for me while my back was giving me trouble.”

 

Keith shook his head at this last point. “No way, Yathir. It’s the least Lance and I can do.”

 

“Well, keeping you boys fed is the least _I_ can do. I won’t be expecting any gems from you until you’ve got yourself a decent paying contract.” Yathir held up all six hands when Keith tried to object. “No. Stop. Let me help you through this rough patch.” Yathir stared at him without blinking. “Keegin Dras is one of the more dangerous types around these parts. You were right not to throw your lot in with hers, but now you have to tread lightly and avoid offending her further.”

 

Keith nodded solemnly. If Yathir said this particular boss was dangerous, then Keith knew that he and Lance would not cross paths with her if they could help it. Not only that, Lance had told Keith that Dras was the reason Brisha was missing two fingers — apparently, that was Dras’ typical punishment for tardiness.

 

They would ride out this drought for as long as it took for Dras to forget about them and move on.

 

“Now, why don’t you chase down that partner of yours, see if maybe you can get a straight answer out of him?” Yathir smiled warmly at Keith, cleaning up Lance's abandoned cup.

 

After gulping down his own cool glass of water, Keith set off to do just that, waving at Yathir as he went up the stairs. He could hear the shower running as he walked into their room. He took quiet steps towards the bathroom, just to the right of their bed, and pushed open the door a little, wincing when it creaked.

 

“So much for your ninja-ness, dude — total fail,” Lance called out from the shower.

 

“Yeah, just like your sorry attempt to lie to me,” Keith goaded him, kicking off his boots before stepping inside.

 

“I didn’t lie! I just didn’t tell you everything. Keith, I gotta have _some_ secrets. A little mystery in this relationship will keep things interesting!”

 

“Actually, I could do with boring.” Keith pressed back against the closed door, the only comfortable place to lean; the wall to his right had several towel racks (which they used to hang their laundry since Yathir had a washer but not a dryer); the left wall had the sink, toilet and mirror (that Lance kept spectacularly clean and yelled at Keith for speckling with toothpaste); and the wall directly opposite Keith was taken up completely by the small shower. “Boring would great. And _quiet_. Do you know what that word means? Should I define it for you?”

 

“How about you get in here and _make me_ be quiet?” Lance’s tone grew raspy, just loud enough to be heard over the running water.

 

Keith had expected something like that, but he was still determined … This was simply part of his strategy. He pulled off his clothes a little too hurriedly, almost smacking his head against the racks in his haste. Lance was snickering at him from behind the sliding glass door of the shower and that was _not_ okay.

 

It instantly became _okay_ when Keith was behind that foggy glass with him, indulging in the sight of what seemed like an infinite amount of smooth skin, scars and all. Lance was smirking, though he somehow seemed soft and affectionate in his smugness.

 

“Damn it, I had a really witty joke for you and now …” Lance gestured at Keith, flapping his hand up and down. “Crap, I can’t _think_ with you like this.”

 

“That’s the first step to you being quiet,” Keith said with a sly grin. “And maybe consider answering my —”

 

At which point Lance _cheated_ by grabbing the showerhead and spraying Keith directly in the face. While Keith was spluttering and cursing, Lance manhandled him against the wall. Keith hissed when cool tiles hit his back, gearing up for a rant, but then Lance was on his knees in the small space, and that was the end of any coherent thinking on Keith’s part.

 

By the time they got out of the bathroom, both of them with sore knees, Keith had no particular inclination to interrogate Lance further; it was probably something small-time or else Lance would have asked for help …

 

Except that, hours later, after an evening spent apart that left Keith waiting up in bed for Lance, he was momentarily rendered speechless by two things that happened in close proximity to one another.

 

The _first_ was Lance walking into their room, grinning and …

 

Keith squinted. “Are you wearing makeup?”

 

Lance blinked his blue eyes, made all the more prominent by the eyeliner and eye shadow _._ Keith could have sworn there was a touch of blush on his cheeks too … and were his lips pinker than normal?

 

“Hey, sometimes I wanna be pretty!” Lance said sunnily, stripping down with model efficiency. He tossed a gem bag onto the nightstand. “I’ll put that in the safe in a sec …”

 

Keith reached for it. “I’ll do it.”

 

At which point, the _second_ thing happened …

 

Keith picked up the gem bag and stared blankly at his hand — the little satchel was _heavy._

 

“How much did you make tonight?” he asked incredulously.

 

“Um, probably the same as you?”

 

“I made five gems, Lance, it was just a two-hour guard job — this feels like twenty-five? _Thirty?_ ”

 

Lance shrugged, not meeting Keith’s gaze as he put his clothes away a little _too_ carefully. He muttered a number, apparently hoping Keith had suddenly developed hearing loss but no, he heard it loud and clear.

 

“You made _forty gems_ in _one night?!_ ”

 

Lance smiled tiredly, one bare shoulder lifted in a shrug. “It was a good gig? I’m awesome at my job? Keith, just accept this as the gift it is.” He yawned. “Going to wash this stuff off my face.”

 

He disappeared into the bathroom. Keith listened to the sink running, to Lance scrubbing at his face while he hummed.

 

Keith had _no idea_ what Lance had been doing, but the only times Keith and Lance had been paid anywhere _near_ that much for _one_ job _,_ they’d been working very difficult, nearly fatal contracts (taking out all the members of an Ithorlan gang came to mind). However, Lance seemed mildly exhausted, at worst; he wasn’t bruised or stained with blood (his or somebody else’s) … And _why_ the makeup? Lance had indulged in that kind of extra beauty care back on the Castle, but he hadn’t bothered at all since they crashed here …

 

Lance reappeared, yawning even more dramatically — the front strands of his hair were wet, his face clean of all eyeliner and eye shadow and whatever else. Keith didn’t shift as Lance crashed face first on his side of the bed. Lance rose up on his arms after a moment, murmuring, “Good night,” and Keith accepted the quick kiss to his lips easily.

 

Keith turned off the bedside lamp before fully settling down next to Lance, watching as his fiancé fell asleep promptly.

 

He tried to avoid pondering on what Lance was up to; instead, he ran through his own schedule — Keith had another short contract tomorrow, first thing in the morning, and then he was planning on hitting up Jorlack in the afternoon to see if he could weasel another job out of him, maybe meet Lance there for lunch …

 

One of Lance’s arms slid across Keith’s waist, his face seeking the warm skin of Keith’s neck … Keith sighed to himself, smiling a little as he brushed his lips across Lance’s forehead and closed his eyes. As long as Lance wasn’t putting himself in undue danger, Keith could leave this clandestine job a mystery … for now.

 

******

 

“Oh, I can’t wait for tonight.” Gunthra slapped Keith’s back as she walked by him in Jorlack’s saloon.

 

Keith half-turned on his barstool, raising an eyebrow in question as he sipped from his drink. “Why? Are you finally standing up to Dras and letting me and Lance lift some hovercars for you?”

 

“Aren’t you just begging for a knife through the eye?” Gunthra cooed at him. She grinned knowingly. “Obviously I’m talking about your better half and his new contract. Mm-mm, the only thing that would make it better is if _you_ joined him.”

 

“Joined him _in what_?” Keith asked, his spine ramrod straight, his drink abandoned on the counter behind him as he confronted her, one hand reflexively dropping down to his knife.

 

“In nothing to worry about!” Brisha chirped, out of nowhere, swinging by with a tray of empty glasses. “Gunthra, you were just leaving, right?”

 

The older woman squinted at Brisha, then at Keith. Her eyes widened a moment later, her smile growing to truly alarming proportions. “Ah, so is that how it is? Well, things just got _a hundred times better._ Off I go — you just sit and think about what I said, Keith. Have yourself a nice night. I know _I will._ ”

 

She left, laughing jovially to herself. Now Keith whipped around to glare at Brisha, who just raised her free hand in a gesture of _hold on, wait a minute._ “Lance doesn’t want you to know, and I promised not to say anything. He said if you asked me, I had to say that you’ll leave it alone _if you trust him._ ”

 

Keith grit his teeth — it was starting to feel like maybe Lance was taking advantage of that trust for some _unknown_ reason. “ _Where is he_?”

 

“Working,” Brisha replied airily. “I have a message from Jorlack too. He says come back in a week, and he might have something for you.”

 

“He could’ve just come out and told me instead of leaving me waiting,” Keith complained, hopping off the barstool and dropping a couple of small gems by his half-empty glass.

 

“Yes, but while you’ve been waiting, you’ve had several drinks and some food,” Brisha pointed out with a sly little smile. “Have a nice night, Keith.”

 

Keith sighed heavily, giving Brisha an annoyed look that she dismissed with hardly any remorse, though she also smiled at him warmly. He took his leave, ignoring the usual leers and jeers sent his way.

 

This time, he waited for Lance down in Yathir’s bar, sitting at one of the tables by the stairs.

 

Yathir had long since gone to bed, so Keith sat in the dark, alone, his feet up on the table. Deep into the night, his eyes focused on the door as Lance unlocked it slowly, quietly. When he had come inside fully, closing and locking the door behind him, Keith reached over to the switch on the wall and flicked on the lights.

 

Lance whipped around, guns out and cocked in the space of a breath. He huffed loudly, annoyed as he half-whispered, half-hissed, “What the hell, man? I could’ve killed you just now, you moron!”

 

“You’ve got _Brisha_ lying for you,” Keith said without preamble. “So this tells me that whatever you’re doing, _I won’t like it._ ”

 

“Maybe? But I already told you that it’s not dangerous, and _you need to trust me._ I’m trying to prevent you from getting grey hairs, okay?” Lance’s voice seemed a bit hoarse — so he’d been talking a lot tonight? Yelling?  _What in the fucking hell was he up to?_

 

“Lance, this is fucking ridiculous. Just _tell me_ and this will all be —”

 

“Nope, no, you’re being an ass, and I almost shot you, so I’m done for the night.” Lance walked by him, his face lightly dusted with makeup once again, and his shirt partially unbuttoned. Keith felt his stomach swoop, like he’d just made a sudden, risky dive while piloting.

 

He followed Lance, pausing only to turn off the lights, trailing right behind him up the two sets of stairs until they were back in their room. Lance started throwing his clothes off without a word, tossing them haphazardly onto a chair and the foot of their bed. He headed into the bathroom without glancing once towards Keith.

 

Keith clenched his jaw, but couldn’t resist asking, “How bad is it?”

 

Lance yanked the bathroom door shut hard, shouting, _“Not answering!”_ A second later, the shower turned on.

 

Keith stood by the bed, fuming silently. He tried to calm down, to see Lance’s perspective, but his panicked mind kept digging up grim snapshots — Lance shooting that bastard with the bum knee in cold blood. Lance standing over Caspor while breaking multiple fingers on one of the creep’s hands — a hand that had reached down and touched what _no one was allowed to touch without Lance’s express permission._

 

That last memory hit a nerve, sending a flash of hot, fresh anger through Keith’s veins.

 

Lance was out of the shower and rummaging through the dresser for some pyjama pants, as Keith fumed _not so silently._ “Lance, this is _fucking stupid._ We promised right from the start that we _wouldn’t keep secrets_ —”

 

“No, what we promised was that we wouldn’t abandon each other, that no matter how badly we fought, how much we disagreed, _we wouldn’t ever split up._ ” Lance slammed the drawer back, and then yanked on his pants in choppy, harsh motions. “I’m not telling you because you’d overreact. Because the last time this came up, it was really rough on you.”

 

“Not knowing is _rough on me._ ” Keith only _just_ kept himself from shouting. “You should know better than _anyone_ that I can’t help but jump to the _worst_ —”

 

“Which is _why_ I didn’t want to tell you _where_ I was working, but hell, Keith, if you’re so dead-set on suffering instead of _trusting me_ , then, _fine_ — I’m working at Denna’s.”

 

The breath was stolen from Keith’s lungs. He stared at Lance, his anger extinguished from the lack of air. All the hints Keith had picked up on (had refused to think too hard about), they came together to form a gut-wrenching picture — those _hands_ , those _eyes_ , the bastards in Whiero who tried to literally _capture or buy_ them like slaves, the pimps who sought Lance as their _prize_ …

 

“There you go, I can see what you’re thinking, _coño_ …” Lance sagged, running a hand over his face, sighing between his fingers. “I am too damn tired to deal with this right now. That empty room down the hall — I’ll crash there tonight.” He grabbed his gun holsters and walked past Keith, barely even pausing as he left the room.

 

Keith couldn’t find the words to stop him. He ended up lying on his back, fully clothed over the covers, staring at a knot in the ceiling. Fear and frustration kept his eyes open, lingering anger at Lance had his hands clenched into fists, but soon enough, those emotions ran their course, and all that was left was an exhausted regret.

 

He fell asleep almost against his will, his body yearning for a warm presence that he had stupidly pushed away from his side.

 

******

 

The next morning, Keith woke up to painful creases in his skin from his pants, belt, and shirt. At least he’d kicked off his boots at some point, but he _hated_ sleeping with socks on. He sat up, running a hand through his messy hair, viciously tugging at the knots that had formed thanks to leaving his half ponytail in for the night.

 

He didn’t see Lance at all as he slowly got ready for the day. After Keith was clean, dressed, and ready to head downstairs, he stopped in front of a closed door — where Lance must have slept, since the other doors on their floor were wide open, rooms vacant.

 

Keith raised one hand to knock … and then dropped it.

 

Yathir was waiting behind the bar, as usual, and when Keith dropped heavily onto a chair instead of onto a barstool, the older alien paused in serving Keith’s breakfast. He picked up the plate, walked over to Keith’s table, and slid the food in front of him. He then tapped Keith’s shoulder once.

 

“Are you alive?” Yathir asked, somewhat humorously.

 

“I guess so,” Keith replied dully.

 

“Is Lance alive?”

 

“You may want to check the room down the hall from ours.” Keith couldn't look Yathir in the eye.

 

“I’ll take that as a _yes._ ” Yathir pushed gently on Keith’s shoulders, forcing him to sit up straight so the innkeeper could shove the plate closer to him. “If you’re both alive, then whatever is happening? It’s fixable. Knowing you two, you’ll be fine by this time tomorrow, if not sooner.”

 

Keith … actually didn’t doubt this, but he needed to hear it. He started picking at his breakfast. “Thanks.”

 

“One thing I will say, though, is that whenever you do finally get to fixing things, please keep in mind the one thing you’re both so very good at,” Yathir said, a hint of teasing in his words.

 

Keith took the bait with a faint smile of his own. “And what’s that?”

 

“Your inability to hold back.”

 

That got a laugh out of Keith, prompting an answering one from Yathir. He finished his porridge and took off, aware that Lance was probably ready to come down by now, but hesitating because Keith was here. They still needed space, time apart to settle down and regroup.

 

Keith took the truck out to Jorlack’s again, this time hitting up Dorgrun and Ikalee, seeing if they’d heard of any small-time jobs that he could work. Ikalee had insulted him thoroughly, but slid him a memory stick from Ithorla — the Goylan Death Bringers needed to transport contraband from the Powder District of Whiero into Ithorla, without their rival gangs taking them or their cargo out. Risky business heading into Dras’ territory, but as it was an escort mission _out_ of Whiero, Keith thought it worth considering.

 

Dorgrun accepted a drink from Keith as payment for intel on a bunch of ID plates that Caspor was having a tough time getting, thanks to interference from one of Ollewa’s people in Byothal. Keith had no problem helping Caspor out — while Caspor was too cowardly to oppose Dras and hire The Two McClains directly, if they did the job without his knowledge, and then confronted him with what he so sorely needed … He’d have no choice but to pay them in order to keep the people who hired him happy.

 

Keith left the saloon in a decent mood, and he had plenty of time to gather his thoughts on the drive back to Dagos.

 

He still believed Lance had been wrong to keep the details of this job a secret, but he couldn’t deny Lance the desire to protect Keith. Not when Keith suffered from the same urges, the same need to keep Lance away from as much pain as he could. That’s why he always put himself in charge of the most violent aspects of their contracts, why he did his best to cultivate the reputation of a quietly deadly killer — all of that, so fewer assholes would mess with Lance. Keith was well aware that Lance had to kill as well, had to break hands and threaten to put bullets in the skulls of people who were a danger to them … But any little pieces of pain Keith could take away and bear himself, he would. Always.

 

He expected to find Lance in a similar state — calmed down, ready to talk.

 

What he did not expect was for Lance to come flying out of the inn as Keith pulled up in the truck, whipping open the door and grabbing him by the wrist.

 

“Let’s go, we’re gonna spar.”

 

Keith blinked. “I … okay.”

 

In the first couple of months, they used to spar regularly, keeping up their training from the Castle as best they could … But as they worked more contracts, as they were attacked increasingly often between those jobs, they found _just living here_ was all the training they needed; sparring was reserved for when they had to practise a specific skill for a gig, such as fighting with a heavy pack after a heist. Furthermore, being on this planet made it … difficult to pull punches. It had been become ingrained in them that each fight was a fight to the death, and so _practice fighting_ had almost ceased entirely.

 

None of that mattered to Keith right now.

 

Lance had a sparkle in his eyes, and Keith had pathetically missed his touch, despite it being less than twenty four hours since they’d last brushed against one another.

 

He let himself be dragged around to the back of the inn, where Lance’s shooting range was set up. A few pistols lay discarded on top of a barrel — so Keith knew how Lance had found his calm while he had been out gathering work in Hutton.

 

“Okay,” Lance said, stripping off his gun holsters, stretching his arms and legs perfunctorily. “Don’t go easy.”

 

_Don’t hold back._

“You’ve got it.” Keith took off his sword belts, dropping them into the same pile as Lance’s guns, and warming up his own limbs while keeping his eyes on Lance’s bouncing form.

 

As soon as Keith reared back into his usual starting pose, Lance lunged.

 

It was a dirty fight, the only kind they knew now. Lance went for a tender spot on Keith’s neck, but Keith had his wrist in a hold, twisted behind his back in short order. Lance flowed into the move, bending low, getting a hand around Keith’s knee and shoving a thumb into the bunch of nerves behind it. Keith cursed in pain. Lance grinned as he flipped Keith over his back, but Keith saw it coming, somersaulting fluidly, and landing on his feet with one forearm up to block a kick to his face.

 

He reached out lightning-fast with his other hand to grab Lance’s ankle, flipping him onto his back, and then throwing himself on top of Lance, trying to use his knees to jab him in the stomach. Lance laughed in his face, one of his ridiculously flexible legs coming up to wrap around Keith’s waist and throwing him to the side, with the help of his one free arm.

 

Lance sat astride him, his forearm pressing hard against Keith’s throat.

 

“Yield?” Lance breathed out. He lifted his arm slightly, allowing Keith just enough air to respond.

 

“ _You. First_.”

 

Lance jerked back, flinching as he felt the knife prick into his stomach. He glanced down, and choked out a little laugh, unable to do much more without risking stabbing himself.

 

“Nice work, didn’t even see you grab it.” Lance leaned further back, his full weight resting on Keith’s thighs, his hands up. “I yield, jackass.”

 

Keith tossed the knife aside and reached for Lance’s hands, clutching them tightly. He didn’t know what to say, but Lance apparently didn’t need him to say anything — he grasped Keith’s hands in return, laughing ruefully and seemingly at himself as he stared down at Keith.

 

Keith basked in that tender gaze, smiling faintly up at Lance, which prompted Lance to quirk one side of his mouth upward and clear his throat before speaking.

 

“Right, so, I was an asshole.” Keith opened his mouth to object, but Lance hushed him with a shake of his head and a loud _Shhh._ “Listen, even though I knew you’d get yourself all twisted up over this, I still should have told you straightaway that I was working at Denna’s.”

 

“I … wouldn’t have reacted well.” Keith sat up, letting go of Lance’s hands to cross his arms. Before he completed the gesture, Lance snagged his hands again, wrapping Keith’s arms around Lance’s waist instead. Keith looked into Lance’s eyes, grateful to him for lessening the space between them. “This fight probably would’ve happened anyway. I get why you wanted to avoid it.”

 

“It’s a fight that needed to happen,” Lance countered, that bittersweet edge to his smile a recent addition to Lance’s variety of expressions, and yet already so achingly familiar. “I was just prolonging things, making it worse. So. I’m sorry.”

 

“And I’m sorry that you were right — that you had reason to keep this from me,” Keith said immediately after Lance’s apology. “You asked me to trust you, and I do, I swear, it’s just … I’m bad at letting you go off on your own because there’s so many things that could wrong, and they have _nothing_ to do with you and your abilities, and everything to do with our kind of fucking terrible luck —”

 

“Wow, yeah, the rambling tells me you’re feeling kinda awful, querido,” Lance said, his hands seeking Keith’s hair. He ran his fingers through it soothingly. For a long time, neither of them said anything. Lance kept up his soft strokes through Keith’s black locks, eventually speaking in a subdued tone, “I … didn’t cope well those first couple weeks, if you recall. Back then, Zan’s offer seemed like something I _could_ handle, something that wasn’t … what we ended up becoming. But I figured out pretty fast that what Czanliu does is _not_ for me, and I’m still _not_ doing that, just to be clear.”

 

“Gunthra apparently checked out your work,” Keith couldn’t help but burst out. “I get the feeling you’re going to get more people … stopping by.”

 

“Oh …” Lance exhaled forcefully. “Right. Sort of blanked on the fact that there’s some fucking ludicrous gossip around these parts. I’m a moron. I was so, so wrong to try and keep you in the dark — not just because it was stupid, but also because you shouldn’t have to hear crap about me from other people. Keith, I’m so sor—”

 

“The rambling tells me how sorry you are. I get it, Lance, you were wrong.” Keith smirked weakly. “But I was slightly wrong-er.”

 

“Oh fuck you very much.” Lance rolled his eyes with a dry chuckle. “I am the wrong- _est_ , but whatever, yes, fight over.”

 

Lance used the hands he had in Keith’s hair to guide him into a sweet, too-swift kiss. Keith’s arms tightened around his waist, and then his hands traveled up Lance’s back, clutching his shirt to erase that last breath of air between them. Keith stole another kiss, and another, until he felt all the tension slip away from both their bodies.

 

Keith had his face buried in Lance’s neck by the end, inhaling deeply, sighing out his exhale. Lance pulled him away with a tug on the back of his shirt. Keith went reluctantly, his eyes catching Lance’s embarrassed expression.

 

“Um … I’ll tell you, now, what I’m doing at Denna’s …” Lance breathed in, and Keith stopped him with a fast hand, covering his mouth before the words could escape.

 

“No, it’s fine, you’re fine. I trust you. I don’t care what other people say — I know who you are and what you’re capable of … You’ll tell me once you’re done, right?” Keith moved his hand to kiss him again, grateful that the worst was over, desperate to believe his own words.

 

Lance made a soft noise of agreement, indulging for a minute before he laughed against Keith's lips.

 

Now Keith was the one pulling away, tilting his head in question. “What?”

 

“I just … I’m glad we’re good again.” Lance’s eyes were radiating affection, and his smile spoke of so much relief. “And I can’t believe I was the one who ended up sleeping ‘on the couch’.”

 

“You banished yourself from our room,” Keith pointed out, and he laughed when Lance made a face. “You’ve got no one to blame but yourself.”

 

“Yeah, yeah — oh, shit, we’ve got dinner with Grisner and Telliya tonight!” Lance hopped off of Keith’s lap. “Damn, I totally forgot. I think I can still make it to Denna’s if I bail a little early. I don’t want to postpone again. I think Telliya’s past threatening to force-feed us if we cancel. She’ll just _eat me_.”

 

“I can’t even call you out for exaggerating. Pretty sure she wouldn’t even bother to cook you first.” Keith took Lance’s offered hand. Lance pulled him up, and Keith leaned in to steal a kiss as soon as he was standing again.

 

Lance gave in for a minute before murmuring, “We gotta shower. You have a job today?”

 

Keith shook his head. “No, but Ikalee and Dorgrun gave me a couple of promising tips. We can work those together when … when you’re done with your stint at Denna’s.”

 

Maybe he wasn’t fully comfortable with not knowing, but Lance’s radiant grin, the way he leaned his full weight onto Keith to kiss him again … He _did_ have confidence in Lance — if what Lance was doing was just _embarrassing,_ then Keith could learn to let this go. Lance would definitely tell him once it was done.

 

And Keith would eventually be okay with everything — compared to all the other crap they’d been through on this rock … _This_ might end up being one of the rare memories they could look back on and laugh.

 

But he wasn’t there yet. His mind lingered in the dark corners he’d become at home in — the dangerous, broken pathways he paved with each passing day as one of Two McClains. However, at the end of this particular winding road, there was a hint of light; he just had to give himself time to get there.

 

******

 

“Keith, you have to tell me if this is still bothering you,” Lance said, his face serious.

 

Keith sighed from the driver’s seat of their hovertruck. The fight was over, but Lance’s relieved happiness had been tempered by Keith’s quiet acceptance. He’d been … processing for most of the afternoon, running his own thoughts down — and succeeding in catching a few pieces of brightness. He was _proud_ that he’d kept his cool in the end, and he could absolutely maintain that calm until Lance finally told him about this contract.

 

Keith flicked his gaze over from the road to meet Lance’s eyes briefly, shaking his head a bit. “Lance, I can only say _it’s fine_ so many times. You have to believe me.”

 

“I believe you _want_ it to be fine,” Lance began slowly, “but you’ve been sort of broody, and now you’re doing that thing where your brow furrows up ’cause you’re thinking about something you _don’t_ want to be thinking about.”

 

“It’s. Fine. Lance. _Basta, por favor._ ”

 

“No, nope, you are not going to distract me with the Spanish, no way.” Lance drummed his fingers on the dashboard. “Right, I’m just gonna tell you. Zan managed to get me a temporary gig that —”

 

Keith flung out a hand, the truck swerving as he muffled Lance’s words for the second time that day — he could hear the indignant squawking, feel it against his palm, which had him grinning.

 

He dropped his hand a moment later, as Lance gave him a death glare and followed it up with, “Are you serious right now?! All of that, and you won’t let me —”

 

“It’s … like a challenge, I guess.”

 

Keith felt gravity reassert itself as he spoke. Ever since Lance had taken this job, Keith had been floating inside his head, untethered in his worry, his panic over what Lance could be doing — every single damn job they’d taken on this thrice-damned planet had chipped away at them. Keith could not sit by and watch Lance do something that would exacerbate that process. But seeing Lance laugh so easily, hearing him apologize and insist he could tell Keith … All of that reassured him enough to relax, to breathe and let himself come back down to reality.

 

“A challenge?” Lance clicked his tongue. “Are we bringing back the rivalry? What exactly is this _challenge_?”

 

“Being patient. Learning to accept the things I cannot change, and … how did the rest of that stupid quote go?”

 

Lance broke out in a fresh wave of laughter. “Um, it was a prayer, and Keith, _cariño,_ I’m telling _you_ that I _want_ to tell you, since I should’ve … hm.”

 

That _hm_ had an unmistakably mischievous note to it. Keith shot Lance a suspicious look from the corner of his eyes. “What?” he asked warily.

 

“All right, how about we _do_ make this a challenge?” Lance’s voice had taken a very distinct _purr._

Keith stared at the open desert, the path to Grisner and Telliya’s home, and tried very, very hard not to lose focus as he drove. “I’m listening.”

 

“How about you try and _guess_ what I’m doing at Denna’s. You already know it’s _not_ what Zan does, so you can relax and just … give it your best shot. One guess before I tell you in a few days. With the full understanding that somebody like Gunthra could spill the beans, in which case neither of us wins.”

 

“And the stakes?” Keith felt Lance’s hand make its way over to his lap, pressing high up on his thigh. “Lance …” he warned. They’d tried this _once,_ and it had nearly killed them. The fact that it had been _amazing_ in the few minutes before Keith had nearly driven them into a giant rock still didn’t make him inclined to try again. Furthermore, they didn’t have time to pull over — Lance already had to bail right after dinner, and so they really couldn’t be late on top of that. Telliya would skin them alive.

 

“Well, if you _don’t_ get it, then you have to buy those chaps I was telling you about … and wear ‘em to bed. With the boots! And my hat. And _nothing else_.”

 

Keith scoffed, his eyes rolling _twice_. “You have got to be kidding me …” He huffed in irritation, mouth twitching at Lance’s glee. “Okay, assuming I agree to this, what do _I_ get if I guess right?”

 

Lance leaned right over the center console, his mouth brushing against Keith’s ear as he whispered, still chuckling a bit between words, “You get a very, _very_ nice prize. One that doesn’t end in a car crash. Promise.”

 

He retreated back to his seat, exuding smugness. Completely justified smugness, since Keith couldn’t hide a shiver, and he’d been sold instantly by Lance’s giddy smile and cheerfully seductive attitude.

 

Still, he didn’t need to act _entirely_ like the whipped cowboy mercenary he was — Keith straightened in his seat, speaking determinedly, “I want that prize _and_ a moratorium on all cowboy jokes for a _week._ ”

 

Lance gave him a fake pout, but he nodded eagerly. “Fine! And _until_ this bet is resolved, we put a _moratorium_ on any _fun times._ It’ll make both of our prizes that much sweeter.”

 

Keith clenched his jaw — not being able to touch Lance for several days would be … But he made the mistake of glancing over at those glimmering eyes, and before he knew it, Keith was sighing out his agreement, “All right, fine. You’re on.”

 

Lance actually clapped, his grin even broader now. “Excellent! Man, this whole week just took a turn for the better. I am stoked for this.”

 

They arrived at Grisner and Telliya’s home shortly after that, pulling up to a cozy bungalow just on the outer edge of Hutton’s east side. The door was flung open before Keith had cut the engine, Telliya’s large frame appearing, her arms crossed.

 

“You’re right on time, but only just,” she barked at them. Then she sniffed the air, grinning hugely. “Aw, did you bring one of Yathir’s pies?”

 

“Only the best for you, Telliya,” Lance announced as he slammed the truck door shut, the pie held up high over his head.

 

Grisner took the pie from Lance the moment the dessert crossed the threshold into the house. Lance laughed, shaking Grisner’s blue hand, his own hand disappearing into the large alien’s grip. “Hey man, you better have cooked up some of that stew or …”

 

“Jorlack’s cooks do not have any fucking clue how to make my recipe,” Grisner growled. “So you better be ready to _feast._ ”

 

“Oh hell yes! Keith, get your ass in that chair so we can chow down!” Lance all but sprinted to the table, nearly toppling his seat over as he crashed onto it.

 

Telliya ruffled Keith’s hair as he walked past. “Your mate could use some manners.”

 

“He’s the more polite of the two of us, so …” Keith grinned when Telliya threw her head back and guffawed.

 

Dinner passed in a blur of mirth, with Telliya retelling the story of how Lance and Keith saved her life to her husband, embellishing their recklessness. She pointed at Keith halfway through the tale. “And you, with that damn dagger — such a puny weapon and you nearly _decapitated_ that one asshole—”

 

“Right?!” Lance exclaimed after swallowing a mouthful of stew. “It was gnarly. But also, _hot._ ”

 

Keith made a face, pushing away his empty bowl, shaking his head when Grisner offered to serve him seconds. “Not really, considering how much blood I got on me.”

 

“Well, yeah, wouldn’t let Keith get within five feet of me until he showered, but still … _hot._ ” Lance winked while Keith rolled his eyes for the third time that night.

 

Grisner smiled at both of them and then his wife. “Ah, remember when we were that young?”

 

“No, we were never this young and this stupid,” Telliya said, but she was grinning back, tossing her long grey braid over her shoulder, light blue strands framing her face. “Which reminds me — Lance, what the fuck are you doing working at Denna’s? Is this because Dras is pitching a hissy fit over you two? Keith, it may be safe there, but Lance doesn’t have the kind of thick skin that —”

 

Lance winced. “Ah, wow, okay, today is the day to be roasted over this, I guess.”

 

Keith had already opened his mouth to defend Lance, but Grisner spoke over him, nudging Telliya with his elbow.

 

“Ah, Telly, don’t worry about them. Dras will let it go soon enough, and they’ll be back to being their usual, _destructive_ selves.” Grisner raised his glass towards Lance. “Stopped by Denna’s last night to check on you …” Grisner turned to his wife, his amusement evident in his sharp grin. “You should’ve seen him working that crowd.”

 

Keith leaned in casually, trying to keep from appearing eager. “Oh really — and how, exactly, was he working that crowd?”

 

“Nope, I already said you’re not winning that way!” Lance elbowed Keith before informing Telliya and Grisner. “We’ve got a bet going on, and he needs to guess _without any outside help_ what I’m doing at Denna’s.”

 

“If it hasn’t happened already, soon _someone_ is gonna spoil it for him. But all right, I’ll keep quiet about it.” Telliya snorted, standing up to clear the dinner plates. “I’m bringing out that pie. Love your dinner, Ris, but I would marry Yathir for his pies if we weren’t already hitched.”

 

“So would I — we should bring this up to him next time we’re in Dagos,” Grisner said seriously. “But also, Lance, what’s to stop Keith here from asking around?”

 

“He’s crap at lying to me, for one, and he’s got a _vested interest_ in guessing all on his own.” Lance leered at Keith exaggeratedly, batting his eyelashes.

 

Grisner sniggered, reclining in his chair and resting his huge hands over his full stomach. “He worked them kinda like that, Keith, but I won’t say much else about what he’s doing. Go on and play your game.”

 

Telliya brought out Yathir’s pie and a bottle of blue wine. “This reminds me of when you were trying to smuggle in that bit of lenthay spice from Ranothir … For such a crook, Grisner, you’re a horrible liar.”

 

“You didn’t find out until the day before our anniversary!” Grisner protested. Then he winked at Lance and Keith. “Lenthay spice is one of the main ingredients in _Urus_.”

 

“Urus … is that the, uh, aphrodisiac-type drug?” Lance narrowed his gaze. “Or is it more like an … _I can’t perform without extra help_ drug? No offense, Grisner, but you’re getting on in years —”

 

Telliya roared with laughter as Grisner jabbed a threatening finger Lance's way. “You and your mouth better best wise up, brat. And Urus is the _make love to your spouse for hours without gettin’ tired_ drug. That spice is diluted with a few other stimulants and flavouring — your puny bodies would expire if you took it in its pure form, though …” Grisner leered at his wife. “Couldn’t find a finer way to leave this life.”

 

Telliya smacked his groping hand away from the pie. “It’s dangerous if you take it for more than a couple of weeks, so don’t go getting any ideas. And if you do want to try it, take two pills instead of the usual four. You’re so small, you’d probably get a heart attack inside of an hour otherwise.”

 

“Uh, Keith and me don’t need anything to enhance our bedroom time, thanks. We do just fine — better than fine most days, and _all night,_ ” Lance announced, completely without shame.

 

Keith kicked his chair. “Sorry, Grisner, he’s a disaster of a person. And there’s nothing wrong with needing a bit of _extra help,_ Lance, it happens to everyone … Like that time on the roof, when you couldn’t—”

 

Lance squealed, diving for Keith’s mouth with both hands. Telliya and Grisner were all too entertained by that, Grisner slamming his hand on the table while Telliya rested on her husband for support.

 

They spent the rest of their time over dessert verbally ripping each other to shreds. Keith and Lance ganged up on Grisner and Telliya, and there might have been a wrestling match between Telliya and Lance — _“To defend my man’s honour!_ ” they both proclaimed — but Keith and Grisner both talked them down, with ample application of blue wine.

 

Lance cut himself off after three glasses, shaking his head ruefully. “Sorry, but I really should head to work now. This was a freaking delicious meal, though the company could use some work —”

 

Grisner growled, playfully swiping at Lance, who ducked easily and then snatched the huge fist in order to shake the large alien’s hand. Keith shook Telliya’s hand as she got up to lead them out the door. Before they could leave, she swept them up in a hug.

 

“Saving my life probably deserves more than a good meal and some wine, but thanks for letting me _thank you_ like this.” She squeezed them tightly before dropping them gently back onto the floor. “Now, get home, get to work — and give my regards to Yathir for the pie.”

 

“And maybe now you’ll stop swipin’ my drinks, huh, Lance?” Grisner hollered over his wife’s shoulder.

 

“ _Maaaybe,_ ” Lance called back far too loudly. “ _Maaaybe not._ ”

 

“Bye, Grisner, Telliya.” Keith waved over his shoulder as they walked out.

 

He pulled Lance over to the truck, opening the door for him and pushing him inside. Lance stuck out his tongue, laughing when Keith slammed the door in his face and walked around to hop in on driver’s side again.

 

“You can just drop me off at the main road there.” Lance pointed as Keith started the engine. “I can borrow one of Denna’s speeders to get home later.”

 

Lance sounded somewhat tipsy, but he didn’t appear bothered … So whatever he was doing for Denna didn’t require one hundred percent sobriety? Keith filed that clue away as he drove Lance over to the main road that went right down the middle of Hutton, ending at Denna’s front door.

 

Keith turned to say good-bye, but he barely had to move before Lance had thrust himself across the stick shift, one hand braced against the headrest behind Keith, the other grasping along his jaw, tilting him into an open-mouthed kiss. Lance _ravaged_ him, leaving Keith panting and wide-eyed. His mouth tingled from the lingering taste of blue wine. Lance pressed against his mouth one last time, his tongue brushing along his bottom lip in the lightest of teases.

 

Afterwards, he nuzzled across Keith’s cheek, nosing until he was right by his ear, whispering, “Just a tiny taste of your reward, if you win.” Keith jumped as Lance’s hand fell from his jaw and straight down _into his lap._

Within a second, the heat disappeared, ending with a peck against his cheek, and Lance calling cheerily, “See you tonight _._ ” The truck door slammed shut behind him as he took off at a jog.

 

Keith sat there, engine idling, mouth open, blinking rapidly. He licked his lips and whimpered. _Fuck,_ but he was _whipped._ He laughed at himself, raising one hand to yank his hair up into a ponytail, off his now sweaty neck, and exhaled at length. _Wouldn’t have it any other way._

 

He waited until he couldn’t see Lance anymore, and then gunned it out of there.

 

Keith was going to _fucking win this,_ and he was probably going to _die_ when Lance gave him his reward, but as Grisner had so wisely put it: _“Couldn’t find a finer way to leave this life.”_

 

******

 

Over the next three days, Keith had put together several clues, and dismissed others that his previously anxious mind had cast in a terrifying light. Mostly, he concentrated on Lance’s makeup, on the swagger when he arrived at the inn — the way he’d come back with his shirt mostly unbuttoned. One night he’d returned with glitter on his cheekbones, sparkling across his collarbones and down his chest.

 

(Lance had winked, swiping across said glitter and sliding his shimmering index finger into his mouth — “ _Tastes like strawberries,_ ” _he’d murmured_ — and then Lance kept Keith at arm’s length when he’d tried to pounce on him because _nope, not until you guess!_ Keith had taken a _long_ shower before bed _that_ night.)

 

Keith stuck to Yathir’s inn throughout these three days — largely because he’d exhausted every avenue when it came to seeking better-paying jobs, and so he felt obligated to help out around the place as much as he could. Yathir knew better than to offer him money for the maintenance work, and Keith knew better than to comment on the bigger portions he was getting at mealtimes.

 

As a result, no one was around who could hint slyly or take jabs at Keith for whatever it was Lance was doing. This was both a relief and a source of frustration — he had a theory, one he was (anxiously) certain was correct, but how to confirm it without breaking the rules …

 

On Lance’s sixth day working for Denna, he and Keith decided to head to Jorlack’s together for lunch, hoping to catch wind of any potential jobs for what felt like the hundredth time. And having no luck _again,_ they settled in for drinks afterwards.

 

Gunthra wandered over, shoving a few gems into Lance’s coat pocket with a wink.

 

“Forgot to tip you last night,” she whispered _loudly_ , and then laughed when Keith’s eyes narrowed at her, hand on the pommel of his long dagger.

 

Lance apologized to Keith immediately, pushing Gunthra’s hands away as she left. “I just wandered on over to her table and … um, well, I can tell you, and you can tell me if you’re okay with —”

 

“Lance, first off, what other people do isn’t your fault. Second, you’re kicking ass and taking names, and you don’t need my approval to do it — you made a choice and it’s paying off.” Keith had recited something similar to Lance at least three times in the last few days, and he said it again, low enough not be overheard, powerfully enough to leave no room for doubts.

 

Lance ducked his head, cheeks flushed, and Keith’s heart skipped a beat, both fond and petrified.

 

“Our bet is still on,” Keith added stubbornly, his mind replaying the Glitter Incident in a distinctly _unhelpful_ way. He cleared his throat, raising an eyebrow. “Unless you want to call it quits and give me my prize now?”

 

“Ah, I’ll take ‘hell, no’ for a thousand,” Lance said, snorting and relaxing back into his lazy sprawl over the barstool. He grinned, eyes at half-mast. “Hm, you must think you’ve got it figured out?”

 

“Pretty sure.” Keith’s smirk remained in place, though his insides were twisting up in a bizarre mixture of anxiety, jealousy … and anticipation.

 

Keith was pretty sure ... that Lance was stripping.

 

Denna’s was the safest place to work here — her employees were viciously and efficiently protected. _Anyone_ stupid enough to mistreat Denna’s people _once_ was instantly kicked out of the Pleasure Lair, banned from _ever_ interacting with any of her workers again. If said idiot was stupid enough to try to cross Denna or her people a second time? Said idiot was _buried_ , and maybe, _just maybe,_ Denna’s guards would mercifully kill the moron before they put him or her in the ground.

 

Even knowing all of that, Keith had to keep himself from flinching each time he imagined Lance on that stage, eyes gleaming beneath darkly painted lids, his hand stretching down to pluck at his shirt buttons, to plunge even lower and …

 

There were tiny fragments of jealousy, caught up in a surge of anxiety, of anger at the hungry eyes belonging to people who in no way deserved to feast on the sight. He hated that Lance had been driven to this, for all that it wasn't so devastating as the other kinds of work at Denna’s would’ve been for him.

 

Lance seemed to be having _fun,_ even though he occasionally gazed at Keith with concern, breaking from their teasing to ask, softly, if Keith was still okay.

 

Keith scrambled to show his support, to be clear that Lance was his own person, capable and fully autonomous, not beholden to Keith.

 

And yes, there was also a rich slice of anticipation that had Keith swallowing hard at the image of Lance sliding out of his shirt while sinuously striding across a stage …

 

“All right, querido,” Lance said, leaning in to straighten Keith’s collar, fingers dipping beneath to brush against the skin of his neck. “I’m going to head on over to Bruil’s, hit him up for work again. Doubt he’ll change his mind, but worth a shot … to the shoulder.” He fired off some fingers guns, and Keith shut his eyes in shame.

 

“Get out before I throw my drink at —” He didn't get to finish his sentence, Lance’s lips muffling him, fast, hard, and earning them a few whistles. Most people were used to Lance’s brazenness by now. Keith was familiar but not quite used to it — it still sent a rush through his veins, every time. Especially now that it had been _days_ since they’d done _anything_ more than this.

 

Lance disappeared out the door, blowing a kiss towards Ikalee, and then ducking beneath a throwing knife with a boisterous laugh as she retaliated.

 

Keith waited a few minutes, finishing off his drink leisurely before tossing a couple of gems onto the counter for Rynsu, and then walking to the door. He plucked the wayward throwing knife from the frame, throwing it back at Ikalee. The blade plunged halfway into the wood of the table, a hair’s breadth from her arm. She scowled at Keith, cussing him out vociferously, but he didn’t wait to see or hear anything else from her — he had somewhere else to be.

 

After a short walk, he knocked on the door to Denna’s, and the guard let him in with barely a glance, though he did go through the motions of taking all Keith’s weapons and locking them up behind the bar in a safe.

 

Czanliu was chatting up a client, and when he caught sight of Keith, he raised two fingers.

 

Keith nodded, wandering over to a dim corner. He parked himself at a small table, waving off a server who came by ready with a few drinks. The waiter nodded easily, smiling at him as he walked away. None of the servers would bother him now — one of the good things about Denna’s was the lack of irritating assertiveness amongst her employees. They had subtler way of enticing their clients, and first and foremost was ensuring that said potential clients were comfortable.

 

“So, you’re handling this pretty well.” Czanliu took a seat across from him, smiling broadly at Keith. “You don’t look like you want to murder me … I hope.”

 

“I don’t want to do anything but win a bet,” Keith said resolutely. “I trust Lance. He can … he can do whatever he feels is necessary. He’s his own person.” Keith winced — that had sounded rehearsed.

 

Zan’s perfectly sculpted eyebrows shot up towards his hairline. He chuckled when Keith glared. “Sorry, just having flashbacks to when you seriously looked like you would _kill me_ for merely suggesting Lance _consider_ working here.”

 

“I wouldn’t have killed you — maybe punched you in the face a little.” Keith shrugged. “But you turned out to be a decent person, so, no harm done.”

 

“Thank you,” Zan said dryly. “But also, I’m not telling you what Lance is up to. He asked me to me keep it quiet.”

 

“I figured. But maybe, a hint? Some little comment you can play off as pleasant conversation? You’re good at that, right?” Keith may or may not have sounded a _touch_ desperate. That strange feeling rumbled low in his belly again — frustrations of the sexual and apprehensive kind didn’t mix well.

 

“Or you just give in and let Lance take the win,” Zan said, nodding at another client over Keith’s shoulder.

 

Keith was facing the bar, where one of Bruil’s thugs was eying him speculatively — he had the gall to hold up a bag of gems Keith’s way and blatantly point down towards his crotch. Zan smothered laughter with one hand when Keith gave the asshole a distinct three-fingered salute. (According to Yathir, that gesture was one of this planet’s crudest insults, essentially implying that the prick could go _fuck himself and then fuck whoever birthed him._ )

 

The thug scowled, but was nearly immediately distracted by one of Denna’s Lieutenants, a young alien of a turquoise complexion, with hair the same colour as Keith’s, but braided down to his waist and adorned with silver ribbons.

 

“And maybe could you also suggest that Lance keep working here, once his contract is up,” Zan suggested cautiously. “Denna’s warmed up to him — she’s considering cutting him a deal that means he wouldn’t have to do anything too … intrusive.”

 

“He’s raking in that much money for her?” Keith asked, ignoring Zan’s proposition entirely.

 

“She’s paying him a flat fee of ten gems per night, and taking a sixty percent cut of his tips. If you’ve seen his cut of that, then you know …”

 

Keith blanched. “ _Holy shit._ ” Lance was making _over_ _seventy gems a night in tips alone?_ Granted, he only got to take home thirty gems, and then his ten-gem pay, but … _Holy shit._ That was more than they had made in some of their busiest _weeks._

 

“Part of that is because folks know that he’s only here for a week,” Zan admitted. “They’re plying him with gems hoping he’ll stick around so they can …” Keith flinched, his hands tightening into fists instinctually. Zan sighed. “You know how safe this place is. I just wanted to give you an idea of how much he’s making on top of that.”

 

“It’s his choice, in the end,” Keith said after breathing in and out measuredly. “I’ll let him know once this is over.” Lance wouldn’t take Zan up on the offer, but Keith would ask just hear him say it out loud. “But for now … Gems aside, you can’t tell me anything else?”

 

Zan relaxed marginally, and Keith hadn’t even noticed the tension — Czanliu was _good_ at this. Zan smiled blithely, twisting one dark purple curl around his finger so it fell rakishly across his forehead.

 

“Sorry, but no. That being said, if you do manage to win, it would … definitely be worth your while.” He imitated Lance’s eyebrow wiggle.

 

Keith sucked in a breath. “ _You know what he’s going to—”_

“He may have … asked me for a bit of advice for your reward,” Zan said jauntily. “If you want to benefit from that advice, solve the mystery before tomorrow evening. It’s Lance’s last night." Zan paused, folding his hands as he spoke, "If you wanted, if he said it was fine … you could witness the spectacle yourself?”

 

That was both intimidating and tempting. Keith didn’t know if he could handle watching Lance get nearly naked ( _entirely naked?_ ) in an agonizingly deliberate way, in front of a giant crowd of strangers. Someone would end up stabbed. Or Keith would march up to that stage and drag Lance off to the nearest room with a door that locked and just …

 

He coughed, shifting uncomfortably in his chair. “Right. Well … we’ll see.” He drummed his fingers against the curved edge of the table, a nervous tick he couldn’t control — too much pent up energy.

 

Zan’s gaze was all too knowing, so Keith stood up. “I’m going to head back now. Thanks for … being there, for Lance.”

 

“For you too,” Zan amended with a smile. “I know how badly you both want to get away from here. You’re my friends — I’ll help in whatever way I can.”

 

Keith held out a hand. “Anything we can do to repay —”

 

Zan took his hand and squeezed it while shaking his head. “No, _friends,_ Keith. No money changing hands here. Now, go back to your promised one.” He let go and rose to his feet, walking towards the client he’d been eying — though he turned to shoot Keith one last wink. “See you tomorrow.”

 

Keith didn’t respond to that, already on his way to collect his weapons and leave. Once he’d walked out of Denna’s, he spotted Lance leaning against a tall tree, his hat perched at an angle, another candy stick in his mouth. When Keith approached, Lance took that candy out and pointed at him with it. “You were trying to cheat!”

 

“No, I was just trying to get a _hint_ … Zan wouldn’t let me,” Keith said grumpily. “So you’re good.”

 

Lance grinned. “Damn straight. So, you want to guess now, or save it for when I get back tomorrow night from my big finale?”

 

Keith’s breath caught, and he covered it up with a quick cough. “I’ll take all the time I’ve got to win this.”

 

“All right then, cowboy,” Lance agreed, hooking an arm through Keith’s as they walked back to their truck. “You could … you could come and see for yourself tomorrow? If you wanted. If you wanted to … concede.” Lance winked, but there was a hint of nervousness there — his eyes darted down to the ground, and his arm tightened around Keith’s.

 

“Zan suggested the same,” Keith said, keeping himself calm for Lance’s sake. “But you know I’m not a quitter.”

 

“Of course not — but quitting would have such great consequences in this case.” Lance eased into a coy little smile. Keith felt himself unwind at the sight.

 

“I hear you, trust me. Zan gave me some … interesting food for thought. I kind of hate him for it.”

 

Lance chortled happily. “He’s a good bro, playing my wingman. Man, I almost feel sorry for you. Except not.” Lance kissed his temple, smiling when Keith clasped his hand, squeezing tightly. “You’re only prolonging your suffering, but okay, if that’s how you want to play it …”

 

Keith nudged Lance’s head with his own. “That’s how I want to play it.”

 

“Then I’ll see you after the finale tomorrow,” Lance declared. “And in the meantime — let’s go to the corral. I could use a ride to take my mind off the lack of work. And the fact that I’m out of job as of tomorrow night.”

 

“Race to the south side of the mountain?” Keith suggested as he climbed into the truck.

 

“Another game?” Lance teased. “Sure thing. Except no nookie as a reward!”

 

“I’ll take seeing you eat my dust,” Keith said smugly.

 

Lance cursed loudly in Spanish, laughing when Keith retaliated nearly as well, and giggling at the mistakes that resulted in highly anatomically improbable insults, which he delighted in explaining to Keith.

 

Once they reached Dagos, they passed their time on the backs of the ikuril until Lance had to leave for work. Keith won, just as he knew he would, and then Lance demanded a re-match that he ended up winning. By the time they were heading back to the corral, Keith had regained his lead, and Lance was pouting, though not quite able to conceal the happy glint in his eyes.

 

The long rides gave Keith a burst of adrenaline-fueled energy that helped clear his mind — and change his plans.

 

Tomorrow, Keith … was going to Denna’s. He couldn’t stay behind at the inn _knowing_ (or being at least ninety percent sure) of what Lance was doing. He had to see it for himself, even if it meant losing. And then this game would be over. 

 

He went to sleep that night tangled up in Lance, the still-strange sensation of excited dread provoking wild dreams, waking him up early the next morning out of breath and ready to finally _know_ the score.

 

******

 

_He just had to muster up the strength to walk inside …_

 

Even though it had been over an hour since had Lance walked in, Keith took another twenty minutes to square his shoulders, straighten his back, and head to those double doors.

 

Lance had asked him again, earlier that afternoon, if Keith had wanted to guess … And once more, the words had stuck in Keith’s throat. He couldn’t actually bring himself to say it out loud, so he shook his head and told Lance to _have fun._ He couldn’t tell Lance about his assumption because he’d already made up his mind to _see it._ He wasn’t going to chicken out now.

 

The night guard stopped him with one of his four hands held out; Keith readily removed his daggers and long knives (though he kept one hidden at the small of his back, and another in his boot). Once that was done, the guard smiled broadly, his lime green skin lined with age, though Keith had no doubt this guy could kick ass, based on the bulging muscles. “We were expecting you a lot sooner, McClain — but better late than never, like your other McClain says.”

 

He opened one door, sweeping two of his arms to welcome Keith inside.

 

Immediately, bright yellow lights and the rumble of conversation washed over him — Keith blinked away the spots before his eyes as he walked in. The first floor was packed — all the tables were full, and then some, seating more than was probably comfortable, though no one seemed to mind being crammed in so close to one another. The servers were forced to hold their trays high above their heads as they sidled their way through the multitude.

 

Keith glanced up and saw a few folks lingering along the second floor balcony, mostly Denna’s people, and a few of the kids were kicking about on the highest balcony, their legs dangling out between the banisters.

 

And Lance …

 

Lance was perched on table near the front, laying on his side like a _full meal,_ his hat off kilter, one long leg bent as he leaned over to whisper to one of Gunthra’s people — a young thief whose name Keith couldn’t remember.

 

But the important part was that Lance was _fully clothed._ His shirt was unbuttoned halfway, but clearly still on, as were his best leather pants, those cowboy boots … Lance threw his head back and laughed, and once again, Keith caught himself admiring the way the artfully applied eye shadow made those cobalt eyes shine enough to be seen from across the room.

 

“You made it,” Zan said, appearing at Keith’s side. “I’m assuming you’re conceding the bet, then?”

 

Keith hadn’t taken more than three steps inside, transfixed by the sight of Lance, grin brilliant, features aglow, and overall, _not_ stripping.

 

“Yeah …” Keith trailed off as Lance slid sinuously off the table, ignoring the reaching hands (which wouldn’t dare grope, not with Denna’s enforcers lining the walls, and standing on either side of the stage, with their sharp eyes fixed on the crowd, their shaper claws menacing). “He’s … what is he doing?”

 

“Saying his good-byes, mingling for extra tips. He’s going to make a killing tonight, considering this is it,” Zan explained, patting Keith’s shoulder and directing him towards the bar. As they approached, a couple of Denna’s employees hopped off their barstools, smiling in welcome at Keith, murmuring, “ _Finally, would’ve been a shame if you missed it.”_

“A week was as long as Denna would let him work without submitting to more duties.” Zan signalled the bartender, who had two drinks already waiting — she pushed them over, and Keith snatched his up with barely a glance. He couldn’t tear his eyes away from Lance and his too-happy grin.

 

He looked a bit sweaty, a bit tired in a way that was well hidden from strangers, but obvious to Keith. Even so, Lance moved from table to table, bending low to murmur into ears, to put his hand on shoulders and press in close. He winked at those he was too far to reach. He had a few lengthy conversations, and a sharp exchange with Gunthra that got everyone within earshot guffawing and slapping their tables. Lance said something to Caspor that prompted a chorus of “oh”s — he walked away from that with a smirk, and Caspor … didn’t look like he minded getting so viciously put down.

 

“You missed the main show, I’m afraid,” Zan said regretfully. “But he also does an encore after this, usually, if people ask. And they _always_ ask.”

 

An encore … So maybe Lance had put the clothes back _on,_ so he could take them off _again?_ Keith was … very confused. He tensed whenever a hand would get too close, but then loosened up each time those searching fingers would pull back hastily — Denna’s guards growled loud enough to be heard each time someone dared to give in to temptation.

 

He jumped when a hoarse shout ran out, “Boy, you best be givin’ us what _you know_ we want!”

 

Keith stared in shock at Dorgrun, the grizzled old alien seated a table just to the right of the stage. People came to Denna’s for all kinds of reasons, not just the more obvious ones, but Keith never imagined Dorgrun to be interested in _anything_ this place had to offer. And he’d never shown any real interest in either Lance or Keith except as The Two McClains for hire.

 

“Again?” Lance hollered back from the middle of the gathering. “Is that what everyone wants? Last call …”

 

The crowd roared, hands slamming repeatedly onto tables, and Lance was lost to Keith’s sight as people stood up, cheering madly.

 

Lance reappeared on the stage, hands on his hips — Keith had missed how he’d climbed up there — and then he pointed a single finger at Dorgrun. “Old man, this will be the last of me in these hallowed halls. You sure this how you want me to go out?”

 

“McClain, enough chattering, get to it!” Dorgrun waved at everyone else. “I ain’t like the rest of these folks. You can’t charm me out of my gems unless I get what I came for.”

 

A few whistles broke out, a few insults lobbed Dorgrun’s way, and Lance laughed boisterously, his hand gesturing to someone off stage. Daralo, a lithe woman with indigo skin, came on holding a chair in one strong hand, and in the other … Keith sat up straighter, his drink forgotten — Zan snatched it up before the alcohol spilled all over his lap.

 

That was … some kind of guitar?

 

Lance thanked Daralo quietly, and she kissed him on the cheek in return, winking at a few wolf whistlers before she exited the stage.

 

The crowd quieted as Lance sat down, the strange guitar braced on his knees. He draped himself over it, arms dangling while he spoke without needing to raise his voice, his smile smaller. “If this is what you want, I’m here to give it you.” Some more pleased yells answered Lance. “It’s been a real pleasure to have you all here, willing to listen — next time The Two McClains screw you over, think of me fondly, yeah?”

 

That got jeers and expletives tossed his way, mostly good-natured — but either way, Lance just kept smiling, adjusting his hold on the guitar. He leaned back, hands shifting into strumming position. He plucked a few times at the strings, making sure everything was in tune … And then he began to play.

 

The entire room went dead silent, but there was an energy thrumming throughout the still air — a rush of broad grins, soft smiles, smirks, and a few solemn faces. Dorgrun, for all his bluster about getting Lance to do this ( _to sing this song, because that’s what Lance had been doing for a week — literally singing for their supper_ ), merely closed his eyes and stilled in his seat.

 

The notes were a melodic melancholy, not at all what Keith expected (in the two seconds he’d had to expect _anything,_ since this wasn’t _anything_ like what he assumed).

 

Lance closed his eyes and opened his mouth to sing … From the first word, Keith was riveted, and nothing on this planet would move him from this spot.

 

Lance’s voice, raspy but clear, rang out to the rafters, “ _I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, and I fear no evil because I’m blind to it all. And my mind, and my gun they comfort me …_ ” Blue eyes opened, hazily unfocused, and Keith’s heart clenched at the faraway gaze. “ _Because I know I’ll kill my enemies when they come._ ”

 

A unified shout broke out, a guttural rumble of pride. And then quiet again … Except for Lance, his guitar, and a perfect drum beat — a powerful, rhythmic thunder as everyone either stomped their feet or pounded on their table in near perfect unison, as though rehearsed.

 

“ _Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life, and I will dwell on this earth forevermore … Said I walk beside the still waters, and they restore my soul,”_ Lance’s voice, hoarse as it was, soared higher, echoing. His gazed sharpened, as though he could see through the crowd, through the walls, out to the vast wasteland of desert that surrounded them. “ _But I can’t walk on the path of the right because I’m wrong._ ”

 

Another, shorter cheer, this one leading into … a kind of hum, a musical note sustained. Coupled with the thunderous pounding, it was like a holy ritual, but grounded in ruthless pleasure for many sins. For the first time, Keith glanced up and away from Lance, startled by all the faces looking down, the hands beating against the balcony railings, the humming tones that vibrated beneath Lance’s guitar, now played with a stronger rhythm as he rose above them all.

 

“ _Well, I came upon a man at the top of a hill. Called himself the saviour of the human race. He said, ‘I come to save the world from destruction and pain.’”_ Lance blinked himself back into the room, a twisted smile that he bestowed upon those closest to the front. _“But I said, ‘How can you save the world from itself?’”_

Pleased roars punctuated those last words, as from between Lance's pursed lips came whistling, and he kept playing in perfect time, joined by those who could whistle along with him. Those who couldn’t, they kept the humming notes going — the pounding beat steady and strong all throughout.

 

When Lance sang again, the words were ripped out of his throat, a booming, tearing hurt, causing a few people in the front to shout and to batter their tables slightly off-beat before joining the rest in time again.

 

“ _’Cause I walk through the valley of the shadow of death, and I fear no evil because I’m blind …”_ Lance held the harsh note, and he faded right into the next, breaking over each sung word, his eyes shut tightly. “ _Oh, and I walk beside the still waters, and they restore my soul. But I know when I die”_ — those eyes fluttered open again, catching Keith’s, holding, and the smile beneath them bloomed beautifully, painfully honest — _“my soul is damned._ ”

 

The last echo faded, and the multitude surged up, hollering and whooping, hats thrown in the air — somebody threw Lance’s favourite hat up to him, and he caught it one hand. He stood up, guitar clutched by the neck in his other hand. He put the hat to his heart and bowed — the raucous cheering rose up even louder than before, with no sign of ending.

 

Zan applauded, letting out a shout of Lance’s name when Lance rose up from his bow, the playful, charming grin firmly in place as he jammed the hat back onto his head.

 

Keith may not have seen him strip, but Lance had been exposed on that stage nonetheless. He had no idea what to think or how to feel, but when Lance disappeared into the wings, Keith was on his feet, heading towards the back before he’d even fully realized the decision to follow.

 

The guards let him without question — in all likelihood because Zan was somewhere behind him, giving him wordless permission — and Keith headed down a narrow hallway, blindly determined to find Lance. Daralo grabbed his sleeve, causing him to jump, hand on his concealed dagger. She pointed at a door just a few metres away before letting him go on. She nodded at him once, and Keith nodded swiftly in return.

 

When he reached the tall wooden door, he knocked three times in rapid succession.

 

Lance swung it open, tugging him in by his shirt collar and slamming the door shut behind him. He released Keith soon after, taking several steps backwards to sit on a dressing table, mirror reflecting his back and Keith’s wide-eyed stare.

 

“So … surprise?” Lance twirled his fingers in a weak razzle-dazzle gesture. “I don’t know what you were guessing, but I’m pretty sure that wasn’t it.”

 

“No. It wasn’t.” Keith watched as Lance crossed his arms, and then his ankles, staring at his boots, the brim of his hat concealing his face. Keith swallowed, his hands clenching and unclenching at his sides. “You … you were something else.”

 

“Something good?” Lance raised his head, his expression blank but for that restless, worried flicker in his eyes. He’d been embarrassed — ashamed — of _this?_

 

“Something … I couldn’t describe. I’m not as good with words as you. But … fuck, I wish you couldn’t sing that so honestly.” Keith didn’t know why that fell out, but it felt right. He took one step forward, still too far away to reach out. “But I’m not sorry for getting to see that, to hear that … I can’t say anything that would do it justice.”

 

Lance’s mouth twitched, a sardonic little grin that disappeared as quickly as it appeared. “I think what you said is … just right.”

 

Keith took another step, bringing him within arm’s reach, his own lips quirking up at the corners. “You’re biased because you care too damn much about me.”

 

“Guilty as charged, and why I couldn't just tell you where I was working,” Lance admitted lightly, though his eyes were dark, that distant shadow not quite faded. “There’s a lot I’m willing to do for you, Keith, including lying to soothe your fragile ego.”

 

“ _My_ fragile ego, Mr. I’m-Gonna-Start-A-Rivalry-With-Someone-Because-They-Didn’t-Remember-Me?” Keith shuffled in the slightest bit closer, able to pick out individual eyelashes, to see his favourite scar beneath Lance’s ear — Keith used one hand to tip that hat back, allowing more light to hit Lance’s handsome face.

 

“Lance and Keith, Neck and Neck, was _totally_ a thing, and even if it wasn’t, you helped _make it a thing,_ ” Lance declared, throwing his arms up in the air, and as they dropped, he snagged at Keith’s coat sleeves with his fingers, tugging him across those final few inches. “You couldn’t resist poking at my completely justified ego. Or resist me, in general.” Lance smiled tentatively.

 

Naturally, Keith had to ruin the ease between them by saying, “You could keep working here.”

 

“Ha … Wait, what?” Lance didn’t remove his hands from Keith’s jacket, but he did reel back to stare at him in confusion. “What … Keith, I can’t—”

 

“I remember, but if … if things have changed, from a few months ago, and you think that you _could,_ but you won’t because of me … It’s not … You know I’m not your boss or anything, we’re _equals,_ so if you can handle —”

“Well, I _can’t,_ Keith,” Lance cut him off harshly, though he shook his head apologetically soon after. “Sorry, it’s just … Denna cut me a break, gave me _this_ break because Zan put in a good word for me. Several good words. Maybe a few hundred. And she knew I could rake in some cash, even if I sucked. Which, I didn’t, I guess.” Again, he seemed a touch self-conscious, and Keith tried to find the words to reassure him, but Lance kept speaking, “Point being, she told me anything past the week would mean a standard contract — and what I told you months ago still holds … I can’t be giving those pieces of me away.”

 

Keith let loose a long sigh. “If you’re _sure …_ This could be safer, Lance. It could be like … a break, in a way. I won’t think differently of you. Nothing would change between us.” The words tasted wrong in his mouth — bitter, foul. He _didn’t_ want Lance here, but he had to _make sure_ that _if_ Lance had changed his mind, Keith wasn’t forcing him to feel ashamed for his choices. Because this place, this entire planet, made them feel _wrong_ inside. _Damned._ Keith would _not_ be part of the reason Lance felt that way.

 

But Lance was shaking his head again, and the relief began to ease Keith’s frayed nerves.

 

“Except that I couldn’t watch your reckless ass while you work,” Lance chided. “So, yeah, things would change. Though I get what you’re saying. Thanks … Which is weird to say, because you’re trying to push me into taking a gig at a brothel … But like, very sweet in your intention?”

 

Keith dropped his head onto Lance’s shoulder, his cheeks burning. “Forget I said anything.”

 

“Nope,” Lance popped his ‘p’ and somehow, the world spun again, right on path, everything as it should be. The panicked fog lifted, and Keith chuckled into Lance’s shirt, his arms sneaking around that narrow waist.

 

Lance hummed happily. “Keith, I’m not gonna forget any of this for a long time. I was embarrassed ’cause I’ve always been … not good at the music thing, compared to the rest of my family …” _That_ made Keith’s eyes widen, and Lance giggled at his gobsmacked expression, reaching up to take off his hat so he could press in even closer. “But now I know that I'm not half-bad. And I was trying to keep you from freaking out, but that happened anyway. You were so worried, and I felt so guilty, so lesson learned — always tell Keith all things!" Keith snorted, and Lance grinned. "Now I’ve decided that I'm going to look back on this and laugh. I mean, it’s been maybe ten minutes since this whole ordeal ended, and it’s already funny. Oh, and the best part …”

 

Lance’s arms wrapped around Keith’s back, having snaked beneath his jacket … and his hands plunged down, groping. Keith laughed again, lifting his head to rest his forehead against Lance’s as his wonderful, broken, beautiful fiancé murmured, “The best part is that _I won._ ”

 

“You don’t even know what my guess was,” Keith objected, rather idiotically, and then jerked backwards, shaking his head frantically. “Wait, no, never mind!”

 

“ _Never mind_ nothing — what did you think I was doing?” Lance sounded both eager and puzzled. “I told you what I _wasn’t_ doing, so I know you didn’t think … Unless you didn’t believe me?” The arms around Keith’s waist loosened, as though Lance was about to pull away. “You didn’t—”

 

“ _Stripping,_ okay? _I thought you were stripping._ ” Keith clamped his mouth shut, closing his eyes, bracing for impact.

 

Silence for a few seconds.

 

Keith opened one eye. Then the other.

 

Lance was red in the face, and when Keith gaped at him, Lance _cracked up._

The laughter forced them apart as Lance bent over double, his head braced against Keith’s stomach as he _cried_ with glee. “ _Holy shit, oh my god. No puedo creer … Cariño, you’re too much for me …_ ” A fresh cascade of mirth, far too much for this small room.

 

Keith waited for a minute, and then said, loudly, “ _Callate, pendejo._ I had a lot of evidence to back up this theory, okay? You were always coming back with like, your clothes half undone. And then there was that night with the _glitter._ And you said it was _embarrassing._ And you … you’re a good dancer, I know you are. So, I just … With the amount of gems you were making …”

 

“I mean, fair points, one and all, but that’s not … Oh my god, this is _too good._ ” Lance straightened up, wiping tears away, his smile too bold, _too mischievous,_ for Keith’s liking. “Okay, look, I’m explaining why this is so damn hilarious once we’re back at Yathir’s. And I am gonna turn down the reward you promised me.”

 

“Why?” Keith’s back tensed up, and Lance ran his hands along it, massaging soothing circles into the rigid muscles.

 

“Because I’m going to give you _your_ reward. Really, at this point, it’s a reward for both of us, and I just …” The snickering was back. “Keith, let’s get the hell out of here.”

 

Keith wasn’t going to keep this argument going — he’d rather be back at the inn anyway. Lance kept breaking out into laughter, his hands sneaking in more gropes, and he gathered up his jacket and hat, pulling Keith along. They snuck out the back, racing towards the truck.

 

“Zan will get me my tips and last day’s pay,” Lance said breathlessly before Keith could ask. “Just gun it, cowboy.”

 

They made it back to the Yathir’s in just over fifteen minutes ( _half_ the time the drive normally took); it would cost them a pretty penny to refuel after this speed run, but the _rush_ set all of Keith’s nerves alight fantastically. Lance was out of the hovertruck first, still bursting into the odd giggle.

 

It was dark inside of Yathir’s place, already closed up for the night. Dagos was a sleepy town, not many stayed awake unless they were working a contract, and therefore, Lance and Keith stumbled into a pleasantly quiet inn, the town’s silence permeating through the walls. Lance impatiently hauled Keith upstairs, and then … _not_ to their room?

 

They ended up in the large room at the opposite end of the hall from theirs, the one Lance had slept in earlier that week after their fight. Lance pushed Keith down into a bulky wing-backed chair, upholstery faded and mismatched, but soft with thick cushions. Keith sank into it, staring up at Lance in total bafflement. “What … what is going on?”

 

“This was going to be your prize for winning the bet,” Lance said, explaining nothing, his grin all too wide. “But now it’s going to be the best joke ever. Wait here, I gotta get some stuff ready.”

 

He disappeared, closing the door behind him. Keith blinked, staring at his surroundings while he stayed put. It was the same size as their master bedroom, with a bathroom attached, but instead of the large bed, there were two small ones, leaving enough space for a slightly larger wardrobe in one corner, and this chair in the other corner, near the window. Lance hadn’t turned on any lights, so the silvery moon was all the illumination Keith had to go by.

 

Keith tapped his fingers on the armrest, and then took off his jacket, tossing it onto the nearest bed. He pulled his hair out of its low ponytail, raking his fingers through it. He decided to at least wash his hands and face before Lance could come back — if only to have something to do.

 

By the time he returned from the bathroom and resumed his seat, Lance was knocking on the door. “You sitting down?”

 

“Yeah?”

 

“All right, in that case …”

 

A brief pause, and then … was that music? Keith strained his ears … That throbbing bass was distinct now, playing through the tiny speakers of one of their pocket computers …

 

“… Presenting your fiancé, Lance McClain, in your reward, Keith McClain, even though you didn’t actually win this bet, loser.”

 

“Then why are you” — the door swung open — “even … oh … _oh_ …” Words were lost. Keith didn’t even bother to try and retrieve them.

 

There stood Lance in a pair of _sinful_ dark maroon pants, a black and navy striped vest, underneath which he wore a white long-sleeved shirt that was so worn out it was basically _transparent._ His feet were bare, and in one hand he held the computer, still playing the song. Lance strolled in, hips swaying, the entire, devastating picture _nearly_ (but not quite) ruined by his relentless snickering.

 

“See here, cariño,” Lance said, managing a sultry tone despite his giddy amusement. “I asked Zan to help me out with your prize, should you win, and he gave me a handy couple of lessons …” Lance tossed the computer onto the bed with Keith’s jacket as he strode over, lifting one leg to rest his knee just next to Keith’s thighs. His grin was too damn amused by far. “I’ve actually got a knack for stripping and lap dances — who knew, right?”

 

“… You mean, I sort of _guessed right?!”_ Keith gaped, his mind buzzing nonsensically. “Just … I guessed the wrong … I mean, you can actually …”

 

His hand was smacked away before he’d even registered reaching out for Lance, for the buttons of that vest. “Nuh-uh, sweetheart — you put your hands on those armrests and _don’t you dare move._ ”

 

Keith’s hands flew to their place — he winced at his own eagerness.

 

Lance’s grin darkened. “Man, maybe I should’ve saved this for your birthday next month. Eh, whatever, I’ll come up with something just as good for your big two-oh. But in the _meantime …_ ”

 

Keith didn’t care about his birthday (had never cared about his birthday), and he cared even _less_ now with Lance splayed out, and Keith  _not allowed to touch._ It had been a _week_ since he’d gotten his hands on bare, beautifully gold-brown skin, and all the tension of the past few days slammed into his veins all at once, causing his limbs to tremble.

 

Lance had his knees on either side of Keith’s thighs and then he _arched all the way back_ to the bed, reaching for the computer, turning up the volume on the music. Now Keith could hear that the lyrics were in Spanish, though he had no clue what the hell they were saying; Keith was slowly becoming fluent (thanks to all the downtime they had with barely any jobs, and Lance eager to teach him his native tongue), but he couldn’t concentrate on anything other than Lance, who rose back up with a damn body roll.

 

Keith officially had no reasoning powers. None, nope, they were gone, _forever._

 

His nails dug into the chair’s fabric as those long, dextrous fingers plucked at the buttons of that vest, in time to the music — one button, two buttons … Keith choked when the vest finally split open, revealing that the thin white shirt was actually _cropped._

“ _You are the worst._ ” Keith’s voice cracked halfway through that sentence, and Lance chuckled deeply, but said nothing, just shrugged the vest off, leaving him in the maroon pants and ripped shirt. As he undulated, _not quite_ in Keith’s lap, one hand snuck up the cropped top, the other down towards his pants …

 

This slow torture was how Keith was going to die, at last, on this world. Not in a gun fight, not in a bar brawl — his fiancé was going to murder him right here in this chair, _by not_ _undoing those damn pants …_

 

“Hm, I’m kind of grateful for our mutual idiocy,” Lance said casually as he worked his hips in torturous circles. “If I hadn’t been stupidly embarrassed and worried about you worrying, and if you hadn’t been over-protective and, well, _worried_ … I mean, this turned out pretty well, right? Better than a lot of our other” — a sharp hip roll, a hand playing with his belt — “adventures.”

 

There were words, but Keith only vaguely understood them, his brain otherwise occupied. “Lance _, holy fuck_ —”

 

“You aren’t that much of a loser, since you guessed right, in a way? So, reward, totally deserved. You were so _supportive_ of my alleged stripping career, it was _so lovely._ ”

 

Keith finally fully registered what Lance was saying, and he groaned, his own embarrassment burning his cheeks. “Lance, god, please, stop. Can we never bring this up again after this? _After you fucking take off the damn clothes_?”

 

“The _one good story we have,_ and you never want me to tell it?” Lance paused in his movements, licking his pink lips. “I don’t know, Keith …”

 

“I’ll return the favour on your next birthday!” Keith rambled, at this point willing to swear to _anything_ if it’ll get him Lance _on his lap._ “I’ll even wear whatever stupid outfit you want, _fucking damn it …_ ”

 

Lance froze, his grin becoming _gleefully evil,_ to the point where Keith should probably be afraid, but most of his higher reasoning had been obliterated _._ “Oh _hell yes._ I will _not_ forget this. Lance’s twenty-first birthday is getting put down as _Keith The Cowboy Stripper Day —_ ”

 

“Good, _fine, now, please—_ ”

 

“And sure, I swear to never bring this up again … for the next little while, I mean, really, it’s too good —”

 

Keith would’ve objected, but Lance _finally rolled his hips down into Keith’s,_ and that white shirt, skimpy though it was, was finally sliding _up … And then he stopped._ “Hey, Keith, you gotta tell me to _take it off_ — those are stripper rules, right?”

 

Keith blinked, a modicum of sanity returning. “Are you serious?”

 

“C’mon, Keith,” Lance whined, his hips working in a slow, grinding circle, momentarily robbing Keith of his indignation. “You’re my only audience, give me a little something—”

 

“The _begging_ wasn’t enough?”

 

“I mean, it was _angry begging,_ which, while hot …” Lance arched an eyebrow, pushing that shirt up high enough to expose his entire chest — and the _fucking edible glitter sparkled along his pecs, what the actual …_

With his _entire face scorching_ , Keith coughed, tried to speak, failed, and then wheezed out in a terrible imitation of every cliché stripper show ever _,_ “ _Oooh, baby, take it off._ ”

 

Lance laughed so hard he started crying, smudging his makeup and nearly falling off the chair. Keith couldn’t help but join him, his arms gripping around his waist to keep him from toppling over. They laughed at each other uproariously until Lance’s hiccups cleared up, and he determinedly detached Keith’s hands to put them back on the armrests.

 

“Oh god, hold on, I have to finish this — you wait right there, _baby,_ ” Lance squeaked out, visibly swallowing down another bout of laughter.

 

Keith grinned up at him, registering a change in song, slightly slower, no less seductive — Lance easily swung back into the rhythm, though they were both still smiling like idiots at each other. The white shirt came off with an _impossible_ dip backwards. The belt followed after Lance spun to press his back to Keith’s front, arching between his legs — the belt clattered loudly onto the floor, and then Lance took one of Keith’s hands and placed it directly onto the pants’ zipper.

 

Every single piece of anxiety, every little dark rumination that had plagued his waking and sleeping hours, disappeared in the face of Lance’s hilarious showmanship — the way he gave in to Keith just a little, and then ripped his hand away, resuming his dance with a wink. Keith laughed and egged him on, thoroughly lost in the burning slow build, the sweat gleaming in the moonlight — the infinite amount of time until Lance finally, _finally,_ whispered the command Keith had desperately yearned to hear.

 

By the time they were curled up on one of the narrow beds, entangled and breathing heavily in the aftermath, the greyish orange light of dawn began colouring the air.

 

“Fuck me, that was … We can’t be doing that every night, though I really, _really_ want to,” Lance muttered into Keith’s hair.

 

Keith chuckled, happily exhausted, murmuring back, “We might actually die if we tried. But I’m down, if you are?”

 

Lance laughed, and then moaned. “Wow, my entire body _hurts._ Stripping is such a work-out — this is not how I’m meant to be using these muscles, _ow_.”

 

“So it’s really out as a career option?” Keith whispered, muffled against Lance’s collarbone. “You could, uh, practise as much as you want—”

 

“Ugh, no more, tired,” Lance’s voice had begun to fade, and he tightened his hold on Keith. “Sleep.”

 

Keith was already halfway there, so it was all too easy to obey. Soon, his dreams were full of vibrant, blurring wonders, not a hint of darkness to be found.

 

******

 

Keith’s next clear thought occurred sometime past noon — the sun poured in through the windows, as they hadn’t thought to close the curtains before crashing. Nor had they considered anything beyond the quickest of clean-ups, so he felt distinctly sticky and gross.

 

Lance was sitting up in bed, stretching his arms high above both their heads, and he smiled down at Keith, who was still blinking himself awake. “Hello there. How goes?”

 

He considered the question, his brain coming online in fits and starts. Keith nuzzled against Lance’s waist, one arm thrown across his blanket-covered lap. “Mmm … We need a shower.”

 

Keith could feel Lance laughing. “You are not wrong. Ugh. C’mon, I think you’re going to need to hold me up in there. My legs feel like jelly.”

 

It took Keith several more minutes to fully wake up. Lance wasn’t exactly helping by carding his fingers through Keith’s hair, humming quietly to himself.

 

Eventually, they squeezed into the small shower together. Keith scratched the cactus-juice shampoo into Lance’s scalp, massaging his sore muscles, particularly his thighs. There was only a minimal urge to take things further — he was pretty damn sore himself, as Lance wasn’t the only one to attempt a few acrobatic moves the night before. He didn’t let Lance spend too much time on Keith’s aches in return — mostly because Keith was _starving,_ and he wanted to be eating some of Yathir’s cooking, _now._

They ran over to their own room to get dressed (their clothes from the night before weren’t wearable, and in the case of Lance’s leather pants, never would be again). Afterwards, they trudged down the stairs, still tired, though they were glad to be awake. Lance cheered when he saw a pair of plates, loaded with steaming food, waiting for them at the bar. Yathir emerged from the kitchen as they sat down, plunging into their late lunch eagerly.

 

“Good morning this fine afternoon,” Yathir said flatly, his voice rather hoarse. “For you two, at least. For myself and a few other residents? Not so much, I’m afraid.”

 

Keith stopped eating, his spoon halfway to his mouth. He stared at Yathir, his skin heating up for _not good_ reasons. “Oh … You know that normally we aren’t —”

 

“Yathir, oh man, we’re so sorry,” Lance said around a mouthful, his eyes widening. He swallowed, coughing a bit as he continued speaking, “That was a one-time deal! Or, well, I guess this is the second time you’ve been, um, forced to hear some stuff you didn’t want — but I swear, this was a _special circumstance,_ not to be repeated —”

 

Yathir put a hand each on their heads, patting none too gently. “I’m going to ask you two for a few favours, since I _know_ you don’t have any plans for today.”

 

Both Lance and Keith nodded instantly, Keith feeling distinctly mortified.

 

With a satisfied smile, Yathir began to list off chores, “You’re going to scrub that room down. Maybe even lend me a hand with that entire floor. Then, we’re going to head over to Hutton — a few of my normal deliveries were delayed thanks to an ambush, so I need to pick up the groceries myself. And _then,_ once all that is sorted and put away … You can do whatever you like with your free time. _Quietly._ ”

 

The large green hands fell away from their heads, and Lance saluted, sitting up straight. “Yes, sir, and please, don’t throw us out over this, we will do whatever it takes to —”

 

Yathir interrupted Lance’s words with a light snort, shooting a teasing look towards Keith. “Well, I do remember telling you not to hold back — perhaps this was my own doing.”

 

Keith managed to smile at that, though he was still painfully embarrased. “I took your advice a few days ago, actually … But this was the aftermath.” Keith scratched at the back of his neck, ducking his head down.

 

Yathir released a loud sigh, but his smile grew fonder. “Right. I’m glad you’re back to normal, and that the celebration is over and done with. Now, how about you get on up there and clean — I want be heading out to Hutton before the sun sets.”

 

Lance and Keith speedily finished their food, made a point to thank Yathir profusely for the meal, and then ran up the stairs.

 

“Okay, that was pretty humiliating,” Lance said, scrubbing at his cheeks with both hands, as if to peel the redness away. “But … still worth it.”

 

Keith elbowed him, his own blush _finally_ fading. “Yeah, it was. All of it, actually.”

 

He meant the entire week of confusion, arguing, apologizing, and bantering. A bet that never really mattered except for the fun of it, and the way Keith learned to give Lance his space, but also that sometimes he needed to ask for less space, for the sake of his own mind.

 

And yes, it was worth it to learn that Lance could, in fact, strip like a damn pro, though strictly for Keith’s viewing pleasure (and active participation).

Lance read the meaning behind Keith’s words easily, his smile the kind that touched his eyes, that made Keith feel dangerously at ease with the world around him.

 

They stood in the doorway of the room they had borrowed for the night, wincing at the whirlwind of sheets, the ripped pants, the tears in the chair’s upholstery, the crack in the dresser by the window …

 

“Hey, remember the whole _you do a whole week of laundry,_ thing?” Lance pointed at the bed. “That week starts now.”

 

“I never _actually_ agreed to that!” Keith argued, narrowing his eyes.

 

“Well, how about you agree to it now, _and_ I’ll keep this story to myself … maybe. Though, damn, your _face_ when you told me about the stripping …” Lance yelped when Keith hit him in the face with a still-sweat-soaked pillow.

 

“If you won’t bring it up again for the foreseeable future,” Keith said, jumping up onto the destroyed bed to avoid a pillow missile launched his way, “I’ll take care of the sheets. But _you_ have to clean the chair.”

 

“Deal!” Lance stood directly in front of Keith, his head craned back to stare up at him, grinning and waggling his eyebrows. “Seal it with a kiss?”

 

Keith bent down, waiting until Lance’s eyes fluttered shut … and then walloped him again with the pillow. The indignant shouting was extremely satisfying. “No way — Yathir might actually kick our asses out if we give him a repeat performance.”

 

“We could be _quiet_ this time, you jerk,” Lance complained, running his fingers through his hair to fix the dishevelled strands. “But, yeah, maybe let’s not mess up this room even worse. Okay — off to the laundry machine with you. I’ve got to tackle this chair disaster over here.”

 

“Careful with straining those legs of yours, considering …” Keith trailed off, staring at the chair, unable to stop the instant replay of the previous night’s events.

 

“Yeah, no,” Lance broke into his ruminations. “I see that look in your eye, and that is _bad news._ ” He stared around the room, smacking his forehead. “Hey, we’re idiots — we forgot to grab the cleaning crap from the closet. You go do that, and I’ll strip the sheets for you. Okay, bye!”

 

Lance shoved him out the door, and Keith went willingly, avoiding the temptation that he would likely (and happily) succumb to with Lance.

 

Even while dealing with disgusting sheets, giving Lance a hand with the ripped, stained chair, attempting to glue the crack in the dresser, and finally ending off with scrubbing the floors … Keith grinned the entire time. He laughed at Lance’s terrible jokes, his dry replies prompting similar mirth from Lance. This tiny bright spot — he paid close attention to every detail, keeping it in that place where he had begun to accrue an increasing (surprising) amount of good memories from the last few months.

 

Maybe he could stand to hear Lance tell this story again someday. Keith would probably blush and hate listening to it, but he would still believe, just like he did today while he splashed Lance with soapy water as they bent over the wooden floors, that it was _all_ worth that bit of pain.

 

 

****** 

I walk through the valley of the shadow of death  
And I'll fear no evil because I'm blind to it all  
And my mind and my gun they comfort me  
Because I know I'll kill my enemies when they come  
  
Surely goodness and mercy will follow me all the days of my life  
And I will dwell on this earth forevermore  
Still I walk beside the still waters and they restore my soul  
But I can't walk on the path of the right because I'm wrong  
  
Well I came upon a man at the top of a hill  
Called himself the savior of the human race  
Said he come to save the world from destruction and pain  
But I said how can you save the world from itself?  
  
'Cause I walk through the valley of the shadow of death  
And I'll fear no evil 'cause I'm blind  
And I walk beside the still waters and they restore my soul  
But I know when I die my soul is damned. 

— [_Through the Valley_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AtHubsyGD8w), Shawn James

******

 

 

**Author's Note:**

> Why was this so damn difficult to write? I’ve had this story started for months. Gah. *sighs* Okay, it’s done now, so I’m just gonna breathe for a bit. Sorry for the angstier tone this took! It honestly caught me by surprise, but I couldn't steer it back towards too much fluff as it just didn't feel _right_. Hopefully it isn't terrible as a result. *is nervous* 
> 
> A million thanks to **Reader115** for reading this over as I was writing, pointing out some mistakes and giving me some fantastic advice even though she was terribly sick at the time — you are a wonder, my dear.
> 
> So, yes, the song Lance sings is [_Through the Valley_](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=AtHubsyGD8w), and I absolutely recommend you listen to the song — try it while reading that scene. I imagined Lance’s voice singing with same kind of roughness, but [here is a video](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=-FzGjgOfpt4) of Lance’s voice actor, Jeremy Shada, singing, to help y’all hear him a little more clearly in your head (also, apparently Steven Yeun can sing too?! Geez! :D). Thank you so much to the wonderful **tiny-klancer** on Tumblr for sharing that with me!
> 
>  If you haven't already, you can check out my [Tumblr](http://thisgirlhastales.tumblr.com/), where I sometimes post sneak peeks, extra writings, but mostly just reblog stuff that makes me happy :)
> 
> As per usual, I have to gush gratitude at every single person who has read this series — I am so awestruck by all of you. Thank you. So. Damn. Much. And if you're someone who is just reading this particular story, I thank you as well! *hugs*
> 
>  
> 
> **Friendly reminder that this series isn't finished yet — I'm writing that recovery fic now, and I've got plans for maybe another two or three stories after that ;D**


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